Chapter 81 – Decimation

Vorathrex stood, sensing the approach. The wrath imps around him stirred at his rise. It was just light enough outside to make out the faintest outlines of each other.

He felt more than heard the pounce. A second later, Boney’s wolf-like body landed with an agile thud on the ground only three paces in front of him.

The entire transformation of the newborn imp—now demon—was still hard for Vorathrex to handle. Seeing Boney prowl silently through the pitch-dark night, leaping over ten meters with perfect accuracy? Even more so.

“Was that really necessary?” asked Vorathrex.

“Yes. It is time,” said Boney simply. Behind him the rest of the Red Claws scampered over, each passing them both and heading towards the wrath imps.

“Group one. Follow voice!”

“Group two! Here!”

“Three!”

“Four!”

They began to disseminate instructions, breaking out into their assigned packs. The wrath warriors couldn’t see much, but the Red Claws could. They directed them into the correct positions and chains. Vorathrex hadn’t seen the night drill the fledgling had done, but he’d heard much of it.

“The fledgling said he was going to use tricks. Not… that.” He pointed a meaty finger at the burning battlefields glowing in the distance.

Vorathrex couldn’t see it, but he could practically feel the smugness emanating from Boney’s face in response.

“Tactics, Vorathrex. Tactics,” said Boney. “Master knows that a pack hunts not just with their claws, but also their mind.”

Snorting, the giant only shook his head. “That explosion… That feeling. Do you know how difficult it was to keep the warriors from charging outright?”

“You managed it. That’s all that matters.”

Before he could reply, one of the claws returned. “We ready!”

“Vorathrex, you remember the instructions?” Boney’s golden and red eyes glowed at him in the night.

The towering giant cracked his knuckles and spun around. He waved a big hand over his shoulder, knowing Boney would sense it.

A soft chuckle was his only reply.

***

Over the next few minutes, more survivors had found their ranks. Thirty-five in total now.

The surviving knights of The Solari made a line as fast as they could. Injured or not, their training won out. Some had scavenged tower shields, others simply stuck with swords, and a few had nothing but their gauntlets and hands.

None, however, had The Five’s power. Not anymore. Their armor was dull, their bodies battered and exhausted, and their devotion tugged to its very limit.

Yet, that devotion to cleanse the darkness held. It was stretched, but it held.

Lord Brexin could tell from the way his paladins looked outwards. They didn’t shy away from the darkness, but faced it. Growling, he unsheathed his own sword, using both hands to hold it outwards. It trembled, shivering in the wind. He snarled, forcing his hands to steady, clawing strength from the depths of himself.

Once he finally had that metal still, he took stock of the rest of his ranks. They’d chosen a location near the center of the battered sands, where many of the fires still burned and the light was as good as it could be.

“They’re coming,” he growled. “Paladins! We are the will of The Five! The—” he coughed, spitting out blood. “We are the instrument they use to cleanse the evil from this world. We must keep the path of light cleansed of all that is wicked, and shepherd those who have strayed back on their true journey!”

He paused, eyes flicking from left to right. The remaining paladins let out their own growls of defiance, metal boots stomping and weapons raising. Together, they peered into the night. Forms—many forms—were moving towards them. The moon and stars shone upon the beasts, revealing their red skin and bony armor in the distance.

And they were moving fast. Far faster than anyone ought to be without The Five’s light to guide them on a night like this. Brexin had marched this domain. He knew just how treacherous a full-out charge in it would be.

Not that it mattered. Will of the Five or not, the monsters were coming at them at a full sprint. Some of them even appeared to be on all fours like some kind of bestial creation, if he wasn’t mistaken.

By his side, Arnold clapped his back. “Lord Paladin. I believe this to be our true enemy. The one that laid the trap. They waited until we were battered, until they sprung their dark magic, and until our wills were frayed.”

For the first time, Brexin truly admitted to himself that it wasn’t darkness that beat them. No. It was intelligence. “They out-maneuvered us, didn’t they?” he muttered.

“That they did, Lord Paladin. That they did.”

He grunted. “You’re wrong about one thing, Arnold.”

“What would that be?” As he spoke, his second took a battle stance, his shield raising and sword going to his side.

“Our wills, Arnold. Our wills. They are not frayed.” Then, this time, he raised his voice. “Our wills are not frayed!” he roared. “Our wills are but tested! The Five may not be able to lend any more of their power on this night, but we still have the will to do what must be done!” He took a step forward, raising his arms. “Stand ready! Many brothers have fallen tonight! For this, the light will strike back!”

“Hua-Hua!” replied the paladins.

In the distance, the oddest sounds reached Brexin’s ears. They were… directions?

“Arnold… Do you hear that?” he asked.

“Yes… I think I heard them saying to jump. And turn?” Arnold seemed as thrown off as him by it.

“Are they… shouting heading instructions at each other? On where to move? Some of the beasts must be able to see in this wicked place.”

Arnold nodded. “Black magic, Lord Paladin. Black magic. And…” Taking a breath, he turned and gave him a solemn look. “Demons.”

Brexin winced. He didn’t want to believe it. It went against everything he’d been taught about the interpretations of the writ and The Five’s history. Yet, as he gazed out upon the swarm of darkness that approached, as he recalled the events that had unfolded bringing him to this moment, he considered every decision these wicked creatures had made.

It all made one conclusion quite clear.

These weren’t mindless beasts. They were being orchestrated.

Perhaps, maybe, just maybe, by demons.

He hardly had time to wrestle with that internal realization when the directions being shouted became more and more clear. Moments later, other, far more daunting sounds joined them.

Sounds of hundreds of scampering claws and muscled bodies dashing at full speed through the sands filled the air. And, more terrifyingly, the howls returned.

Licking his lips, Brexin positioned himself behind the semi-circle two paladins thick that formed to face the tides. “Brace! Hold steady!” he called out.

He crouched down, trying to ignore the pain screaming at him from his body.

Like sirens in the night, the howls flared over the men, making any future orders a moot point. Nothing more could be heard. Just the screams of the damned and the calls of the dark.

As if that wasn’t enough, battle cries joined them. Bestial, primal, and guttural. Together with the howls, he could nearly feel an overbearing aura of rage and violence that emanated off the oncoming swarm.

“Here they come!” called Arnold.

In a last-minute decision, Brexin firmed his beliefs, his wills, his devotion, and made what would perhaps be his final order. “Rise, my brothers! Rise up against the dark! We will not meet this enemy on our haunches, but our feet!”

Then, taking a deep breath, he forced himself to shove through the double ranks, sword forward. From behind, Arnold squeaked in surprise. “Lord Paladin?!”

Ignoring him, he threw himself forward. “With me! With me!” he shouted.

A chorus of desperate roars and cries answered him. As one, the paladins surged forth. Thirty-some golden knights charged forward. Their metal clanged and boots dug hard into the sands, as each and every one of them put everything they had into following the call of their Lord Paladin.

Ahead, the front ranks of the dark creatures broke into the light. What they saw nearly, just nearly, made Brexin halt. They wore armor of bone that seemed to sprout from their very bodies, carried spears, staves, and claws that dripped with a wicked crimson oil, and snarled with mouths full of sharp fangs.

A tidal wave of evil incarnate.

But he’d prepared his mind, and bade it not heed. He just kept moving forward. And so too did his paladins.

As the creatures pushed into the torchlight of the battlefield, the wicked taint too came with them. Inky fog blasted forth, its tendrils billowing forward to encase the ranks of the warriors. With that darkness came a dozen leaping forms, including one massive wolverine at their front. They pounced forward, taking their place at the very lead of the wall of black and creature.

“For The Solari! For The Five!” screamed Brexin.

“For The Five!” answered his paladins.

The next moment, gold met dark. Lines of towering shields, massive swords, and gleaming bronze met beast, fang, claw, and darkness itself. A storm of gold against a storm of black.

When the two forces’ front lines clashed, a resounding clang echoed into the night. Paladins drove their shields forward, their front wall crunching into the partially armored beasts.

A dozen of the wicked creatures were knocked back, sent broken and sprawling. Yet, just as many dodged the shoves of shields and broad sweeps of the paladins’ swords, bodies sliding beneath blows and landing hits of their own. Where claws and spears met armor, the red oils that dripped from the damned ignited into tiny explosions that sent paladins reeling.

To Brexin’s left, a spear was driven into the very face of a paladin. When it met his face guard, the poor man’s skull simply disappeared into a shower of blood and metal.

Meanwhile, Brexin screamed, swinging his sword into the wolf that bore towards him. It slammed into his chest, massive claws bigger than his arm raking into his torso. He felt his own sword meet fur-covered flesh, but before he could celebrate he realized just how sharp those claws were.

They tore through his chest armor, peeling it apart like butter. One second his chest was behind a wall of forged protection, the next it was exposed to the frigid night and sputtering blood into the sands below. He spun backwards, sent sprawling into the hellscape.

As he fell, Brexin saw the wolf pounce. Not to finish him, but to dive into the back ranks of his charging paladins. The Lord Paladin didn’t see what the wolf did, for the next moment his face was encased in red and orange as he hit the sand hard. But he heard the scream of the man that wolf landed on.

And then he didn’t.

***

Boney howled in glee, pulling his claws from the chest of the human below him. The twin maw on his shoulder joined his howls, releasing fresh darkness into his surroundings. He leapt again, slamming claws first into a knight mid-clash with a trio of wrath imps.

Where he went, the black fogs followed. They swirled around him, blinding the victim he’d chosen. The man had only a moment to scream, taking a desperate swipe at a foe he couldn’t find.

Boney dodged it with ease, before sinking his fangs into the neck of the man. Warm blood and flesh filled his maw—to his side, his second maw did the same. It took mere seconds to simply ravage the upper half of the man’s torso.

The trio of wrath imps shouted in triumph, joining in on finishing what was left of the poor man’s body.

Boney let the feelings of wrath and violence consume him. He didn’t stop thinking, but neither did he shy away from the clutches of that power. He let it guide his movements. Spinning about, he spotted one of his Red Claws get wounded by the sword of another golden human.

To his side, more than a dozen downed imps were prone on the sands, guts and blood leaking into the sands. Despite this, Boney felt no pity or regret. Only a certainty that not a one of these so-called paladins would leave these sands alive. Not a one.

He pounced again, slicing his massive claws down. Two shields from another duo of knights rose, answering his blows. The men stepped back at the force of them, but the shields held. Boney swiped forward again. Faster and harder, but they angled their tower shields so that his razor-sharp claws only raked the metal. A screech of sparks sputtered into the night, but no blood was spilt.

The wolf howled, throwing himself forward and speeding up his attacks. A flurry of blows began, and slowly he started to find weak spots. Yet it was taking time. Time the paladins had begun to use.

Even with another dozen paladins overwhelmed and slain, what remained began to collect into a semi-circle facing the tides of wrath. Over a hundred crimson warriors had made their way into the sands, weeks of training and bloodlust pouring out against the knights.

Boney tried to dive beneath the shield in front of him, but the man’s boot came up, meeting his outstretched arm and leaving a nasty gash. Hissing in pain, he drew back, looking for another weak point. Then, the blade of intelligence that had bloomed in his mind as of late was once again unsheathed. The instructions. Master. It flooded back.

“Hold lines!” he roared. “Hold the lines!”

“Hold!”

“Holding!”

“Keep!”

“Hold!”

Warriors answered his cries. Instead of pushing forward, they began to collect and hold, exchanging strikes and parries between spear, sword, and claw with the paladins.

Boney peeled away from the front ranks, taking a moment to heave in fresh air and collect himself.

“We have them!” yelled pack leader Fang. He was in the second line, throwing his spear forward like a staff. “We need to push!” he urged.

“I said hold,” said Boney. “Blood should not be wasted, Fang. Remember yourself!” A look of uncertainty crossed the little warrior’s face, but he obeyed.

Like this, a stalemate began to form. Wounds accumulated on both sides. The paladins gave more than they got, but with sheer numbers and none of their magic, it was only a matter of time. The question was simply how much it would cost the imps.

Had Boney pushed harder now, they could finish this. Had he let it draw out, they could also finish it.

However, there was one more element at play. One more piece on his master’s board. One that could far more efficiently end this battle and minimize how many of their pack was lost.

Master’s first rule.

Do not waste.

As he made that decision, the most peculiar phenomenon occurred. Boney felt new strength. Not of wrath, but of something else. Something that reminded him of master. Where it came from, he didn’t know nor could he see.

But he felt it. Power. Lovely, lovely power.

Wrath is not the only path I can follow. Another waits.

His thoughts were interrupted by an earth shattering roar. A sound louder than any howl, more rageful than any imp, and more wrathful than any single being on this plane had ever let loose filled the night. The back ranks of paladins stiffened, and those at the front missed strikes and nearly fell back in shock. The very ground trembled, sands shifting like water as they quivered under the weight of a massive giant.

To the rear, having made his way directly behind the semi-circle line of knights, a new figure was just visible. Coming down the gentle incline, a four-meter-tall demon with four arms and two half-grown stumps let loose another ear-splitting bellow.

He began to pick up speed and steam, ambling forward. Each sand-quaking step was bigger, louder, and faster than the one before it.

The paladins that first took notice were taken aback.

“By The Five, what is that?!”

“The darkness?!”

“Five save us!”

“Steel yourselves!” One figure rose in the midst of the paladins, waving his holy sword like a torch of the divine. “Steel yourselves! Prepare for impact! Back lines!” He gave his all to organizing his men, but the lack of time and finality of the oncoming monster was the final blow. The one that finally broke the will of The Solari that yet lived.

Each step landing like a boulder, the giant barreled down the hill. It became less of a charge and more an inevitable avalanche. The mountain of a demon flung his head back, snarling in a rage that even Boney shivered at.

It reminded him that despite the power he just felt, wrath was still strong in its own right.

Boney leapt backwards, barking out orders. “Funnel! Funnel!”

“Funneling!”

“Split!”

“Split!”

The lines of imps parted, leaving a gaping hole in them and taking position on both sides of the paladins’ semi-circle of flanks.

Paladins at the front nearly tripped at the sudden depression, swinging wildly.

Then, with a sound that every warrior would remember for a lifetime, Vorathrex The Consumer, leaking an aura of glowing red mist that matched his very namesake, smashed into the rear of the paladins like the arbiter of death himself.

Half a dozen paladins were practically pulverized. Another four were sent rocketing in either direction like ragdolls, having the misfortune of being next in line. Swords and shields tried to push forth, to deflect the demon, but it was like throwing water in a volcano. A volcano that, in this case, was very, very angry.

Vorathrex had a slight curve to his charge, blazing through the second ranks of men with nearly as much force as he’d done with the first. Another five paladins were decimated. Before he left their ranks, a quartet of titanic fists made from demonic flesh pummeled a knight each.

He shot out the back of their circle, barreling through the opening in the imps’ formation and trying to slow his titanic run.

“Close! Close ranks!” ordered Boney.

The wrath imps, nearly eighty that still lived, shoved back into formation.

“Push! Push! Finish them! Finish them all!”

A gleeful call of bloodlust filled the battlefield, wrath warriors letting loose once again. This time, their claws and spears met not a unified front of shields, but a demoralized and eviscerated rank of survivors.

What followed was less of a battle, and more of a slaughter. One that hardly lasted long enough for Vorathrex to wheel back around and join the fray.

By the time it was done, one truth was clear.

The Wrath reigned supreme this night.

***

Chen was on his knees, breathing raggedly. By his side, Issie’s eyes were bloodshot and voice hoarse from screaming.

They ran and ran, but the battle had reached its climactic end before they could even make it halfway there.

An end that didn’t come from swords, but a terrifying and wicked magic. Some sort of volcanic eruption. Even now, it cast a red glow on each member of the squad’s face.

In the distance, that same glow also illuminated the fall of their warriors. The eruption that came with it nearly deafened Chen, throwing the world into a mixture of muted noises.

He didn’t even reach for his ears. He just stared, jaw open, at all the death.

When the explosion and fires finally began to wane, a deathly silence took root.

One that didn’t last.

“Wait, what? What is that? Who? Who are they?”

“I don’t know.” Chen grabbed his hair, pulling at it. “I don’t know. It… They can’t be Valdren. And they aren’t paladins. So that only leaves whoever they are.”

A new force was joining the battle. One that Chen was quite sure was neither Valdren nor Solari.

“They aren’t even human!” Denson was pointing, finger trembling. “Those are horns! And they move like wolves!”

The fogs, lit by the pyres still smoldering on the sands, rolled over the survivors. Behind, the red beasts and demons came. What followed were sounds and sights that would fuel a lifetime of nightmares for the scouts. Nightmares that they’d only live to see if they ran. Chen knew it.

“Who do you think they are?” asked Issie.

The answer popped in Chen’s head unbidden. “Demons.”

No one said otherwise.

Together, the scouts witnessed as the golden lights—each what they now knew had to be a paladin—winked out one by one. The beasts and demons swarmed them, leaving only darkness and blood in their wake.

That left a mixed taste in their stomach. The Solaric men had slaughtered their own. Seeing them fall had a certain satisfaction.

But it left them wondering—who was this new monstrous force?

And then the mountain seemed to part, unleashing an avalanche of a demon upon the last of the paladins.

“That thing’s twice as big as Rosk. Look at him!” Denson sounded far more in awe than the horror he should be feeling right now. The horror and despair plaguing the hearts of the clans watching a battle that had killed their strongest warriors.

Minutes later, it was done.

There were no more lights. No more screams of men, nor beast. Just emptiness. A hollow, ghastly emptiness. One that Chen had no interest in becoming a part of.

“It’s over,” he whispered.

“No… no, no, no!” screamed Issie. “It can’t be! Maybe… Maybe we can go and search for—”

Chen shook her shoulders. “It’s over, dammit! It’s over. The only thing we can do now is save ourselves and tell the clan what happened. And warn them not to make the same mistake Valdren and the paladins did. Or, for that matter, what our warriors did.”